Goodbye is the hardest word
by tidbit22
Summary: The Curtis boys, Darry; Pony: and Patrick, struggle to say goodbye to a place riddled with memories.


This room has never looked so lonely, not even when Soda stopped sleeping in it with me. Not even when he died. Somehow, my room managed to keep its warmth through our darkest days, remaining my safe place. Today it looks cold and lonely.

Discarded corners and tape stick to the walls, remnants of the posters that were ripped away not too long ago. The dresser sags, no longer standing at attention for the pictures and clothes that adorned its top. Its drawers hang open and are empty, leaving a devastated expression. On the bookshelf, dust dances across spaces it has never known. The curtains—yellowed from so many year of smoking —flicker gently, courtesy of the open window. It looks like a shell of my childhood bedroom.

My old pillow's already been packed away in some box, but Soda's is sitting right where we left it. I guess I forgot to throw it into a box. My arms wrap around it.

* * *

"_Darry! Darry wake up!" I whisper urgently. _

_Clutching my teddy bear in one hand, I shake my older brother with the other. It's dark in here too and the monsters are probably lurking, but I feel safer with both my older brothers being in the room. _

_Darry rolls over to me and sits up, his hair going in every direction. He rubs his hand over his face. "Ponyboy? What the hell are you doing up?" _

"_I… I…" It seems stupid now, telling my thirteen-year-old brother that I had a nightmare. I'm scared of the dark, Darry ain't scared of anything. I hang my head, fidgeting with my teddy. "…Had a nightmare. Was wonderin' if…" _

_And I can't finish, too worried Darry'll kick me out and go back to bed. He does something I don't expect. He kicks off his blanket and gets up, yawning. "C'mon Ponykid. I ain't gonna let the monsters get ya." _

_He takes my hand, and I don't shake him loose. Seven is too old to be holding my big brother's hand, but I'm at home and I'm scared. I want his hand. _

_I'm almost asleep under Darry's arm. All fear of monsters and darkness forgotten, all thanks to __my __older brother. Normally I'd get Soda to help ,me, but Darry's a teenager. And he's big. And plays football. Tackle football. When it comes to fighting off monsters, Darry's my man. _

_The door bursts open all of a sudden, revealing our other brother. Sodapop looks offended at this turn of events. "Y'all havin' a party without me?" _

_I can hear Darry's eye roll. "Don't get your panties in a bunch, hop in." _

_And that is all Soda needs, he jumps in right next me. I'm facing him, my back to Darry. "Sorry for wakin' you up. Both of yous." _

_Soda grins. "Don't worry bout it, Pony." _

"_We're your brothers kid." Darry yawns. "It's our job."_

* * *

I'm smiling at the memory when three knocks echo on the door. I whip around to see Darry leaning against the door frame. "You almost ready to go?"

I want to tell him no. No, I'm not ready. This is the only home I've ever known, not counting the church in Windrixville, and I ain't ready to leave it. Instead I nod, gently tossing Soda's old pillow into the one cardboard box left. Darry leaves, and I take one more look around the room before following him.

He walks out the front door, letting the screen slam behind him. Another staple of life here, that screen door would slam no matter how hard you tried to close it softly. Johnny always jumped whenever it slammed.

Johnny used to crash on the couch, positioned right underneath the front window. Dallas would take the floor on those nights, not even caring that sometimes he was as busted up as Johnny was. How many times had I tripped over him in my morning sleepiness, fearing his action-less threats. Steve would sit at the table cheating at cards with Soda. When a game involved the two of them, it could never be referred to as playing. How many arm wrestling matches had that table seen? Even though nothing marks it, I can see Two-bit's spot on the floor. How long did he used to sit there, watching our tv or one of Soda and Steve's wrestling matches?

The piano used to make that hallway towards are room so much narrower, it looks strange without it. That piano littered with photos of our family of five, and then our dysfunctional, weird family of seven after our parents died. My mother used to sit there playing, I used to sit on her lap watching.

Dad would sing to whatever tune she was playing, if he knew it. Didn't matter where he was in the house, if he heard a song, he'd sing. He sounded good, and I can almost here his voice.

My hand finds its way to the corner of the partial wall that separates our living room from kitchen. Even sixteen years later, my mother's neat handwriting in faint pencil is still visible. Scribbled at the top is "my boys" below a list of numbers with our names dutifully written beside them. Mom was adamant about marking our height. We kept up with it, even after she died. Patrick's last mark from two weeks ago darker than all the rest.

It's hard to believe that this is the same kitchen that constantly supplied chocolate cake and beer. The kitchen that survived a thrown mug and baseball, courtesy of hundreds of brotherly fights. Somehow the counters are still there, even after years of people sitting on top of them.

I follow Darry outside. "Where's Patrick?"

"Still inside, I think." He's putting the last box, the one I put Soda's pillow in, into the truck.

"I'll go get him." I say gently. If this is hard on me, it's probably worse for my fifteen year old nephew.

I find him in his room, standing there looking absolutely crushed. He turns when he hears me come in, eyes red and cheeks puffy. "C'mere kiddo."

He's over to me in a second. "I don't want to leave…"

"I know, little buddy." I squeeze his shoulder. "I know."

* * *

My eyes wander around the room, finding it strange without the Star Wars posters. Without tripping over the model cars that littered the floor. Without noticing his trophies from baseball and whatever else. The only indication that this room belonged to a child, the blue walls and starships that adorn them.

_It's Patricks eleventh birthday, and all of his presents have something to do with Star Wars. I took him to see the movie opening weekend, and ever since then he's been hooked. I've taken him back to see it about five times. _

_He's ripping off the wrapping of one of the bigger boxes. Darry went with us every time we went back to watch the movie, and even went on his own equipped with a notebook. The end result is a wooden model of the millennium falcon, painted by his aunt Caroline. It's not exact, but by the look on Patrick's face one could think it's worth a million dollars. _

"_Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" Patrick's running to hug his aunt and uncle. _

_We normally do this with the kids, but we wanted this last present to be Patrick's alone. I smile at his excitement for Darry's gift. I love to see him happy. _

_He thinks it's the last one, with no more boxes left to open. I tap him gently on the shoulder. "There's one more buddy. In your room." _

_He takes off, and we follow laughing. The look of awe on his face is amazing. On the walls go his room are sketches of x-wings chasing tie-fighter around._

_Caroline puts a hand on Patrick's shoulder. "We thought you'd like to help paint them."_

_His smile is contagious. "When can we start?" _

"_I'll go get the paint." Darry's laughing on his way out of the room._

* * *

Maybe Patrick is thinking of that moment too. Of how excited and happy he was. I know, even though he insists he's too old for the images now, he's going to miss them like crazy.

"I know you don't want to leave." I jump at the sound of Darry's voice behind me. "I don't either."

Patrick wanders over to Darry now, and wraps his arms around his waist. I go over as well, the three of us have done so much in this house.

"I grew up in this house. I watched your dad and uncle grow up. I watched you grow up in this house. Darry squeezes Patrick tight. "But we have to say goodbye."

I smile sadly. "Sometimes goodbye is the hardest word."

We walk out of his room, towards the front door. Darry's got his arm tight around Patrick's shoulders, I'm trailing behind them. They let the screen slam as they leave. I follow, opening the screen door, casting one last look at my childhood, before closing it behind me. I somehow make it to the car without one look back, but tears falling down my face. As I climb in, I notice Darry and Patrick looking the same as me. and I realize what I said it my nephew is true...Goodbye really is the hardest word

* * *

**Sooooo, If you couldn't tell I am a very big Star Wars fan. Decided to include it because Patrick would've been eleven when the first one came out, and I just saw Rise of Skywalker which made me a bit nostalgic. I always thought I'd keep one of the Curtis boys in their house, but... I don't know. I just started writing and this was the end result. Thanks for reading and reviewing! It means so so much. **


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